An Inspector and his Sergeant
by PiellaGibson
Summary: Additional moments in the life of Richard Poole on Saint-Marie. Chapter One: Camille pays Richard a visit in his beach hut.


**NOTE: Hi! I wasn't really planning on posting this because I get extremely nervous about the stuff I write, worrying people won't like it. However, the lack of Death in Paradise fanfiction is heartbreaking, so I wanted to add my contribution. I hope it's okay and in character. If there are any mistakes, or any out of character moments, I'll be glad to know about them so that I can sort them out. I hope you enjoy and I hope more people start writing! Please let me know what you think, it will be encouraging and muchly appreciated. **

_**I don't own these characters. I've taken them from the brilliant Death in Paradise!**_

He sighed listlessly, flopping into his preferred chair as he dabbed his constantly slick forehead with a handkerchief. It had taken Richard over a week to solve the most recent murder on the island, an annoying amount of time considering the end result. The team had assisted him of course, Camille helping with the reveal, exposing the cliché case of a jealous wife who staged her husband's death as a suicide. In reality, the wife had been overcome with a passionate rage that in turn, had plagued her judgement until the very end. Of course he being the persistent detective that he was, Richard had been determined to uncover the truth, not allowing the several opinions around him to cloud his judgement, or to let the case be closed prematurely. He'd fought until the end to find the truth, knowing that it was this fine quality of fortitude that got him where he was today, a masterful inspector.

And now he was alone, relaxing in his beach hut, the orange glow of midnight life flickering about him, the sand beneath his shoes grinding against the dull wooden floor. Richard loosened his tie ready to clad himself in his pyjamas, unfastening the top button of his shirt before reclining more comfortably, resting his head on the back of the chair. The sound of the sea filled his ears, the rather strange noise becoming familiar to his night-time routine, almost comforting, not that he would ever admit it aloud. He'd deny it until his last breath, the chafing sand between his toes and the sweat that clung to every part of his body, was too much hassle to even remotely consider this place a haven.

Richard felt his eyes fluttering closed, the lack of sleep dragging his lids down slowly, until eventually his breath became heavy. He'd not even been dozing ten minutes when something disturbed his slumber. Sleep still cradled his brain, hazing dream and reality together, making him doubt whether he'd actually heard a noise at all. The inspector rubbed his eyes, almost in a childlike manner, opening them and letting his sight adjust to the dull light that greeted him. Through the blur, he saw a slim figure, back leaning casually against the frame of the door, as if it were second nature to them, as if they'd done it before in that exact spot.

"You have a habit of sleeping in that chair." Camille's French lilt pleasantly filled the silence in the air, her raised eyebrow and faint grin looking at him questioningly. Richard had become accustomed to her turning up at ungodly hours. It was almost as if she tried to catch him wearing his usual bedtime attire, or catch him doing something that routinely made her laugh. She amused herself daily with his typical Englishness, the pyjamas, the tea, the inability to deal with the hot climate. The smirk tugging at her lips at present said him sleeping in his chair was just another thing he did that entertained her.

Groaning tiredly, Richard ignored the look on her face as he sunk further into his own comfort.

"I was planning on watching some television, but a _certain someone_ tuned it to the French channels." The inspector peeked a glance at her before adding quietly, "Not my idea of a quiet evening."

"And what is your idea of a 'quiet evening'?" Camille asked as she sat herself down in the chair to his left. He watched as she removed the small handbag from her shoulder and placed it by her feet, not considering the sand she would have to later brush off it when she left. _All this sand_, it was ridiculous. Why was it that he was the only person around here to complain about it? It was a constant irritation to his happiness. Maybe if there wasn't so much of it he would finally feel content on this island. But no, it insisted on sticking to every surface, every piece of clothing, just to annoy him.

She reached for the television controller indifferently and switched it on, acting as though it was her home and she had the consent to touch his belongings. Richard sighed desolately, opting to remove his tie completely and let what little breeze there was fan about his neck. He checked the time on his watch, contemplating a way he could get her to leave without seeming rude. The last twenty-four hours he had spent being wrapped up in the case and all Richard wanted to do now was be alone, sleep and dream of England, even if he did secretly enjoy Camille's untimely visits.

"A quiet evening consists of reading the next few chapters of a shoddy crime novel before having the best night's sleep I possibly can in this god forsaken place."

"In your pyjamas?" Camille teased, that well-known look on her face suggesting she was seeking a reaction.

"Yes, in my pyjamas." He retorted, not knowing what else to say and knowing full well he'd think up a better comeback once she'd left and he was safely tucked up in bed. The thought of bed made Richard stand from his chair, subtly hinting to the woman in his house that he was readying for bed. He removed his suit jacket and glanced over his shoulder to see if she was leaving. When Camille caught him looking, he pouted, crossing his arms defiantly, realising she intended to stay a while, amuse herself at his expense once again.

After a moment, Richard straightened his posture and linked his hands behind his back, returning her stare as she giggled and turned her attention back to the television, knowing she knew his intentions, but not willing to comply. A silence then entered the room, an uncomfortable one on his part. So he sat back down with a heavy sigh, defeated.

They sat there then, silently watching French television like a old married couple, Richard only being able to understand the basics of what was being said, despite having being on the island for so long. He didn't find the bright colours emitted from the screen of any enjoyment, nor the jolly smiles of every person on screen at all interesting. He wanted to watch a good crime series, or a nature program, or Fiona Bruce on Antiques Roadshow, without Camille's knowledge of course. He didn't want to be accused of ogling again.

The inspector glanced at his sergeant from the corner of his eye, her eyes fixated intently on bright lights of yet another pointless festival. In an attempt to be casual, Richard searched around for a book, picking it up and skimming his eyes over the different reviews on the back. Too tired to read, he placed the book back where he found it and challenged himself to watch the awful television.

A strange sensation came over him then. Maybe it was the personal feel to the current situation, or the fact that it was just the two of them. Maybe it was the fact that he needed to look at anything other than what was on the then screen because it was just so horrifically tedious. Whatever it was, Richard couldn't help but peek at her every so often, taking in her dark long curls that flowed past her shoulders and her soft skin that shone against the glow of the moon. She was wearing her colourful attire as usual, a bright yellow silk top with some modest brown shorts and sandals. He wasn't one for eccentric dress, but it somehow worked on her.

Unable to cope with the silence any longer, he linked his fingers together across his chest and gave out a purposeful sigh, regaining the stare of her beautiful eyes once more.

"I thought you would have been at your mother's bar with Fidel and Dwayne, again." Camille turned to face him in the chair, one leg bent up to her chest, her elegant hand resting on her skinny knee, "You usually are." He muttered quietly, noting afterwards how jealous he had made himself sound. Camille licked her lips and failed miserably at hiding the knowing smirk on her face.

"I wanted to see what activities you do at night that makes you prefer your own company over ours."

"I've told you," Richard shrugged nonchalantly, knowing she already knew, "I like to read a good book, sit in peace with nothing around me that reminds me of the French. Though, it seems impossible lately."

Camille mocked a face of hurt, pushing him lightly on the arm playfully before that charming smile he found so warming, graced her delicate face once again, "Now, now Richard, I know you secretly love living here with us," Her face came a fraction closer to his and he could smell a hint of her fading perfume. Lowering her voice to a cheeky whisper, she continued, "You just have to keep up the facade for the sake of appearances."

"I can assure you Camille, I have no intentions of living here for much longer. The sooner I leave this place the better. I can't stand it most of the time." The silence that could sour up any situation came back then. Camille deflated back into her chair, the playful look on her face turning to that of concealed sadness. Richard knew he wasn't entirely tuned in on feelings and such like, but in this instance, he knew he'd upset his friend.

But what was he supposed to do? Would she prefer it if he lied to her just to make her happy? Lie to her and say he was going to stay here on Saint Marie forever? Remain with the team and forget he ever lived in England? No, he wasn't going to disappoint her with deception. He missed so much about his native ground and although some things on this island he had come to enjoy, nothing would compare to the crowded streets of London, the unpredictable weather that ruined people's day, the same old sights and proper traditional, English tea.

Richard watched as Camille attempted to cover up her disappointment, smiling at him before glancing around the room, as if to find something she hadn't seen before. As he was about to drain the thick atmosphere and fill it with sound, Camille spoke up, the same playful attitude back as if it never left.

"Are we not good enough for you, Richard?" Everything about her comment said she was teasing, though something within her eyes said she was looking for a serious answer. He lowered his eyes for a moment, contemplating her words carefully. He'd never known work colleagues like this before. Back at home, all came to work in their separate cars, from their separate houses, from their separate lives. They would work, solve cases, fill in forms and then do what they had done that morning, return to their separate lives that seldom crossed paths.

Here it was different. Richard and Camille went to work together, left together at the end of the day most days and spent time together, as friends not colleagues. Fidel and Dwayne were his dear friends now, actually enjoying their company and hoping to see them outside of work from time to time, something that hadn't been so at home. He enjoyed laughing with them about everyday things and forgetting for a moment that they even worked as a team day in day out, seeing corpses and solving crime. This was all foreign ground for him, in more ways than one.

Camille, now she was a whole new level of friendship for him, if he could define it as such. When he was not focused on a case, he thought about her, wondering whether any of her dates had been successful or not, hoping to see her turn up at his door for a late night natter. He genuinely wanted her to keep him company and tease him for his antics. Richard held her friendship close to his heart and he often wondered if she felt the same, enjoyed his company as he did hers.

The inspector sometimes wondered, though did not let the thought linger for too long, whether his feelings were more than just platonic. He wondered if he wanted to be more than just a friend with her, wondered if he wanted her to be his life companion, his partner, his...

The sudden path of thought shot him back to reality. Richard couldn't let himself think this way. Back in England, relationships within the working environment were forbidden and it would be highly frowned upon if anything of that nature were to occur. He felt slightly ashamed to be even considering it for a second. Anyway, what was the likelihood of her even liking him in return? He was far too old for her and she was far too pretty to get stuck with an old frump like him. As far as he was concerned, he could continue to indulge the what if, but never the reality, as much as the thought saddened him.

Returning his thoughts back to her question, Richard decided to ignore her playful tone and answer her with the truth. He would miss all his colleagues and friends he'd made whilst being here. But most of all, he would miss her. He would miss Camille so much, the thought didn't bear to think about.

"You're the best and most competent team I have ever had the privilege to work with." A smile twitched at the edge of her lips and he waited for her to meet his eye, "And as much as it pains me to say it, I'd miss you all."

Camille's smile returned, "Would you miss us enough to visit in the summertime?"

"Oh god no." Richard pulled a disgruntled face and lingered the rest of his sentence until the look of shock riddled her features, "In winter, maybe."

He received a scowl, a laugh and another playful push to his arm. The inspector couldn't help the genuine smile that painted itself onto his face, before it was quickly replaced with the trusted pout. Their eyes locked for a short moment before Camille took a deep breath and stood.

"Where are you going?" The words had slipped out before he realised their implication. Camille raised an eyebrow at him and brought her hand to her hip.

"I was going to go and visit my mother," Her whole body language radiated flirtation, the look in her eye daring, "But if you're asking me to stay-"

"Oh no, no," Richard flustered, the air feeling somewhat more humid than before, "I was just – you, go, go on."

"You're not scared of the snakes again are you? I could hold your hand if you are."

He scoffed in denial, rolling his eyes before standing from his chair, hands slipping into his pockets just in case she jokingly reached out for them, "Goodnight Camille."

"Goodnight, sir." He watched as she picked up her bag and left, glancing at him one last time before disappearing into the night. Richard sat back down in his chair, realising that the smile he had given her as she left was still pinned to his face, not able to remove itself without sheer force.

It was certain. He would definitely miss her.


End file.
